


A Warm Bed Full of Good Things

by wangler



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Bonding, Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gangbang, Group Sex, M/M, Moresomes, Multi, Oral Sex, Pack Dynamics, Ritual Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wangler/pseuds/wangler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles can’t be expected to have a rational response to a bunch of hot people wanting to touch his wiener in the name of family bonding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Warm Bed Full of Good Things

**Author's Note:**

> Pack spoilers from S2. Otherwise canon AU taking place about a year from the current timeline.
> 
> This is not dub-con but there are brief moments of unsureness. If hesitancy is something that might be triggering for you, please be aware.

“It’s the only way to keep you safe,” Derek says, his expression pinched. “If the pack is bonded to you, they’ll protect you out of instinct. No second thoughts.”

“I get it,” Stiles says. “It’s cool.”

When Derek mentioned bonding the first time, Stiles figured it would be something like hanging out in front of a fire and doing some funky blood brother shit with secret wolf handshakes. “Sounds good,” he said, feeling really great about it until Erica started giggling from the other end of the room.

Now that Derek has explained exactly how a pack bonds, Stiles still thinks it sounds good, but he’s not sure he really thinks it sounds good. He can’t be expected to have a rational response to a bunch of hot people wanting to touch his wiener in the name of family bonding.

Wait, not family. Because that sounds gross. Pack. Pack bonding.

Pack sex bonding.

It’s probably a good thing. Right? Sex is a good thing. Sex with Derek is good. It’s really good. It’s lose entire hours of your life and get stubble burns in weird places scary-good.

Sex with Scott does not sound good. Fuck.

Derek takes Stiles by the jaw. “Hey,” he says, waiting until Stiles exhales and meets his gaze. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I seem to recall something about only way to keep me safe.” Stiles nods out of Derek’s loose grip. “My choices are basically evisceration or group sex, right?”

“It’s not...” Derek falters. “We’ll still--I’ll still keep you safe if you’re not bonded. But the betas are young. They still act on instinct. They’ll protect each other before they protect you, and with the hunters--”

“I said it’s cool,” Stiles says, snapping a little because he’s sick of thinking about hunters and monsters and how Scott and Derek have conspired to point out, in graphic detail, exactly how fucked Stiles is when it comes to having human-shaped healing mechanisms, which is better than saying he’s fragile. He’s not. Fragile. He’s just human and not even the ninja assassin kind.

“Your pulse is racing.”

“Well yeah, dude. Orgies? Not normal.”

In the end, Stiles says yes, for sure, oh my god do I need to write it in blood, and tries not to draw a complicated mental pie chart involving his dick’s interest and his sense of self-preservation and his curiosity and the little clutch of want in his chest that doesn't have to do with sex at all and has a lot more to do with belonging.

***

 

Derek gets them a hotel room at the interstate exit near the edge of Beacon Hills. Stiles arrives a couple of hours after Derek, as part of the plan to stagger entrances so it doesn’t look like he’s showing up to have a bizarre werewolf orgy with Boyd and Erica and Isaac and Derek and Scott.

As he snaps the elevator button a few times, Stiles looks up and down the hallway. In the grand scheme of his life, this isn’t the hardest or scariest thing he’s ever done, or even the weirdest thing, but his hands are still shaking.

He trusts Derek, which helps. It’s a good feeling, like grabbing a towel right out of the dryer and wrapping up in it like a burrito, which was something his mom did when he helped her fold laundry and oh god he seriously needs to not think about his mom when he’s about to go get naked with all of his friends.

“Hey,” Derek says when he opens the door like a secret agent, looking over Stiles’ shoulder to survey the ugly wallpaper and total emptiness of a small town Comfort Inn at three pm on a Sunday.

“I heard there’s a party here,” Stiles says. “A sex party.”

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek pulls him inside, slams the lock shut and fastens Stiles to the wall with his body. Mostly with his mouth.

“Mmph,” Stiles responds happily, once he stops being really startled.

There’s something urgent in the way Derek kisses him and touches him. It’s the way they kiss after scary things have happened or one of the betas has almost gotten murdered again and someone’s regenerated a bunch of skin after bleeding and screaming. When Derek growls and drags his teeth along Stiles’ neck before finding his mouth again and kissing him deeply, Stiles recognizing this as possessiveness.

It’s kind of his favorite Derek sex mode, right behind exhausted therefore climbable and too sleepy to be grouchy therefore snuggleable. And shower sex. But that’s not a mode as much as a location. Particularly, a location where Stiles gets over the weird feeling that Derek can smell everywhere he’s been and everything he’s done for the past week and lets Derek do kissy-things to really incredibly vulnerable but also very sensitive parts of his body that in all of Stiles’ wildest masturbation fantasies he’d never imagined someone putting a mouth.

“Can I come?” Stiles manages to ask, worried that if he does he might spoil the big sex ritual before the others get here.

“Stiles,” Derek says, his voice low and wrecked, as if Stiles just said something really sexy. He reaches between them and grinds his palm at Stiles’ dick in one long, hot press and that’s all it takes. Stiles chokes back a cry and hits his head on the wall and comes in his pants as Derek chews wetly on his jaw.

“Good,” Derek says. “That’ll help you relax. Go take a shower before the others get here.”

“Okay.” Stiles is in that dazed, aftershocky happy place and has to watch Derek’s mouth carefully to process what he’s saying. “Shower.”

***

 

Stiles showered before he left for the hotel, but it was hot outside and the air is out in his Jeep again and he got all sticky and then the wall kiss thing happened, so it feels good to scrub down again.

He’s usually not very self-conscious about his body. However, Isaac and Erica and Boyd, while generally nice were-people and all, are basically total strangers, at least in the genitals department. And being naked around Scott isn’t usually a thing involving even acknowledging they have penises. So Stiles goes a little heavy duty in the primping department. He isn’t even sure what the pack bonding sex has to consist of but knowing that Derek has zero boundaries or propriety he soaps up everywhere, and inside of everywhere a little. Twice.

***

 

After the shower, Derek pulls him into the king-sized bed before he has a chance to get dressed again. It’s dark in the room, with only a sliver of light shining through a crack in the heavy drapes. The bed is stripped down to one sheet, which doesn’t give Stiles much to hide under, so he mostly hides under Derek, tucking himself under his strong legs and pressing his face into Derek’s throat to inhale the scent that over the past year he’s gotten really, ridiculously fond of.

They’ve never talked about what they are, and Stiles likes it that way. He’s slotted their relationship solidly into the intersection between friends and partners and fuckbuddies.

He likes kissing Derek so much.

So much that by the time a knock at the door sounds, Stiles has completely forgotten why they’re kissing in the dark in a hotel bed. When he remembers, he tries not to get worked up, but it’s Scott at the door, and fuck.

Derek gets up to let him in.

“Hey man,” Scott says. His hair is still damp and he looks like he ate something rancid.

“That bad?” Stiles asks, trying to look super casual and calm and not at all like it’s pretty much horrible that he’s completely naked in front of his best friend.

“Um.” Scott scratches the side of his neck until Derek takes him by the shoulders and pushes him into the bed.

Stiles backs up to the quilted headboard and drops his arm between his legs. He’s not being shy or anything but the knock on the door wasn’t enough to scare his boner off and it’s Scott.

“So,” Scott says, propped awkwardly on his hands and knees near the foot of the bed. “What do we--”

Derek slides up next to Stiles and kisses his collarbone and takes a firm, obvious grip at Stiles’s dick. Stiles stares at Scott. Cognitive dissonance becomes a thing.

“Scott,” Stiles groans, helplessly flopping one hand at Derek’s back.

“What?” Scott asks, his voice going thin the way it does when he’s freaking out and doesn't know what to do. It's the same sound he's made since they were little kids and Stiles first started teaching Scott how to have fun while slightly breaking the law or at least trespassing.

Something really weird happens: Stiles abruptly thinks about how much he loves Scott. It might be a totally brother-like thing, but he’d die for Scott, and they’ve had each other’s backs since they were tiny and as fucked up as this is, there’s no one else in the world Stiles would rather have terrifying group sex with.

“Just,” Stiles says, jerkily beckoning for Scott with his other hand, until Scott gets close enough for Stiles to grab his sleeve and pull him close. Scott tumbles at him, his werewolf dexterity apparently negated by proximity to nude best friend. Thank all that is holy, they don’t kiss. As much as Stiles is feeling floaty and warm about Scott being the best thing that ever happened to him, he doesn’t want to kiss his mouth, god. Instead, they... nuzzle.

Scott’s face isn’t rough like Derek’s. It’s actually so smooth that Stiles tucks away a hastily scribbled mental note to make fun of Scott for his baby-soft cheeks at a later date.

“There,” Derek says, falling into his creepy lurker persona. “Excellent.”

Stiles thinks that’s how Derek is most comfortable. He wears unapproachable, awkward asshole guy like armor and still manages to look good in it.

Derek takes Scott’s hand and guides it between Stiles’ legs. Stiles stiffens, not in the good penis way. He startles back instinctively, but the headboard is solid behind him and there’s no escape.

“It’s all right,” Scott says. “It’s... please. It’s all right.”

Stiles closes his eyes and allows himself to recognize that Scott is enthusiastically soothing him and that Scott’s breathing heavily and groping gently, but eagerly. He isn’t grossed out or horrified.

He’s turned on.

So, that’s cool. The moment of do not want passes, replaced by maybe this won't suck.

Everything is blobby in the dark, but Stiles can tell that Derek’s nosing at Scott’s ear and touching him too. It’s like a group hug with bonus hands on Stiles’ dick. Stiles likes hugs. And hell, he likes handjobs too.

“Lick him,” Derek says. “Go ahead.”

Scott doesn’t even hesitate. Stiles has one brief, falling-from-the-highdive moment of ohshit before Scott’s broad, wet tongue laps a long trail from Stiles’ belly to his chest.

“Tickles,” Stiles says, shaking with suppressed laughter. “Oh my god.”

Scott looks up at him, eyes flashing yellow.

“Not like, bad tickling,” Stiles quickly amends. He has an urge to bark out some dog obedience orders but all he knows are sit and stay and definitely not please don’t chew on or scratch my delicate manly bits.

Derek makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “How long have you two been friends?”

“Since second grade,” they say at the same time.

“You need to relax,” Derek says. “Stiles, let the wolf touch you. It’s Scott, but it’s not Scott.”

“Bone. Or do not. There is no try?” Stiles asks.

Scott snickers, down against Stiles' belly, and starts licking again. His hand is still on Stiles’ dick and he strokes tentatively, the grip too loose to feel great.

“Come on man, I know you’re better than that,” Stiles says.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, just because you’re tragically mated to Allison doesn’t mean you forgot how to jerk off. You used to practice every night.”

“Whatever, this is different. Help me.”

“That’s a good idea,” Derek says, sitting back on his heels and watching them. He looks like he’s about to take their heads and smash them together violently, so Stiles gets a move on, not because he’s actually worried about that but because he likes it better when Derek’s too horny to be annoyed. More of that. That’s the best.

“Here,” Stiles says. He closes his hand over Scott’s until Scott tightens his fingers. The first stroke feels good, pulls him out of his own head, and his legs fall apart gently.

He’s always been kind of easy like that; he likes being touched so much.

“Try your mouth,” Derek says.

“Dude!” Stiles wishes the bed had pillows on it so he could hit Derek in the face with one. “We got this.”

“Are you sure about that?” Derek asks, not in the generous, helpful way.

“We got it,” Scott says. And then he does use his mouth, which is absolutely the craziest thing Stiles has ever seen, even counting the whole werewolf issue. Scott’s not great at it, at least not compared to Derek, which isn't a fair comparison. But he isn’t shy or unsure. He licks his own fingers and Stiles’ fingers and Stiles’ dick until everything’s all wet and his fingers slide easily, tight and strong.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles mumbles, letting his head drop back. “Bonding is definitely happening.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Scott asks quietly. He rubs his mouth at Stiles’ thigh and hip as he jerks him off slowly.

“This,” Derek says, not sounding as annoyed anymore.

“Why aren’t you naked?” Stiles asks Scott.

“Do you want me to get naked?”

“Not really? But I am. Really, super naked," Stiles says. "So get naked.”

Scott shrugs and pushes up to take his clothes off hurriedly. Stiles can’t tell if it’s because he’s eager or embarrassed and he doesn’t care either way. They end up on their sides together, the way they used to sleep face to face to whisper under the covers so they wouldn’t get caught staying up late, except that was years ago, and now they’re rubbing each other tentatively. Nakedly.

Stiles touches Scott’s dick because he can. He expects it to feel funny or to make him laugh, but it doesn’t. He likes the way it makes Scott gasp. They touch noses and nuzzle more, and Stiles decides this whole animalistic sex thing is great. It’s probably how people are supposed to have sex. People are animals too.

It’s a little startling when Scott rolls Stiles onto his back and starts humping him, but not in a bad-startling way. He’s done this before with Derek. It’s different with Scott, because Scott’s about the same size as Stiles and isn’t as bulky as Derek. Plus, it’s Scott.

Thanks to all the Scott-spit, their dicks slide together. Scott’s quiet, grunting softly and pushing his nose and cheek against Stiles’s face. His tongue slips out in darting strokes, and Stiles tries to shoo away the thought that it’s like being attacked by an overactive puppy because that overactive puppy is currently cock-rubbing him and he’s about to get off on it, hard.

Except Scott comes first and stills, trembling and whining against Stiles’ cheek as he spurts against Stiles' belly. Panting and so fucking close Stiles looks around frantically, hoping to find a Derek to rub his dick on immediately if Scott’s going to be useless and spent--and it’s then that he sees not one but four goddamned werewolves watching them.

“Your stealth is unsettling!” Stiles says. Yells, maybe. Whatever.

“Ladies first,” Erica says.

Stiles hates thinking obvious things like wolfishly but that’s totally what she looks like when she pushes Scott off of Stiles and grins like she’s about to eat Little Red out.

Something lands on Stiles, and between Erica prowling up his body and the shock of surprise exhibitionism, Stiles yelps. It’s just a condom though. He glances at Derek and Derek gives him a look that pretty clearly communicates that he doesn’t want Stiles getting his beta pregnant and Stiles is really on board with that because no.

“Let me do it,” Erica says, when it becomes obvious that Stiles sucks at putting a condom on. It’s not his fault he’s only practiced like, once, because he didn’t want to waste the ones he bought and he doesn’t need one with Derek because Derek’s awesome werewolf immune system does things and oh god, this is happening.

“Damn,” Scott says, watching from right beside Stiles. It’s comforting that he’s there, sweaty and warm and evidently content to flop and watch the proceedings from the bench. “Girls are so cool.”

Erica doesn't even get undressed. She hikes her skirt up and straddles Stiles and sinks onto his dick with a low, pleased hum.

"Oh god," Stiles says. That was quick. He isn't sure where to put his hands, and they hover unsteadily over Erica's thighs, trembling, until she takes them and lifts them to her breasts.

"It's okay sweetie." Erica rides him slowly, like she's exercising. Up. Down. Grind. Up. "I like it."

"A lot," Isaac adds, straddling Stiles' thigh behind Erica to reach around her and up under her skirt. It's... it looks helpful, what he's doing. Erica likes it. Wow. She tilts her head back against Isaac and moans. So. The two of them are close. Apparently.

"Okay." Stiles pants and turns to look at Scott, who's managing to look both sleepy and stunned, something only Scott can accomplish. When Stiles looks back, Erica and Isaac are kissing messily, open-mouthed like porn stars, that pushes this right over the edge of fumbling threesome to seriously kinky orgy.

"They do that all the time," Boyd says from Stiles' left. He meets Stiles' surprised glance and grins. "All. The. Time."

"I've never..." Stiles can't believe he's saying this, but everyone's in here in the dark and it feels like a slumber party sort of, and he's really close again and Erica and Isaac look so good like that, kissing desperately while she whines and feels tight and hot around Stiles. "Done this. New sex frontier and all."

"Really?" Scott asks at Stiles' ear, as he snakes one warm hand up over Stiles' chest and just holds onto him.

"Not with a girl," Stiles says. If he wasn't blissed out getting ridden like a show pony he'd slap Scott in the head for not knowing that.

"Or with Derek," Derek says, from where he's hanging out at the edge of the bed not touching anyone and doing that ridiculous thing where he talks in the third person.

"We're working on that." Stiles' voice breaks between practically every syllable. "I'm working on that, anyway."

Scott laughs. "Let me know how that goes. Actually, don't. Don't let me know how that goes."

It occurs to Stiles that he's mostly holding onto Erica's chest like he's gripping the safety bar on a rollercoaster. Sucking in a breath to clear his head, he moves his hands. Her nipples are hard under her thin tank top and she isn't wearing a bra and her chest is soft and warm and firm. She sneaks a wicked glance at him and hums when his thumbs trace the tightness of her nipples. Holy shit. Boobs are great.

The mattress dips as Boyd comes close. "Can I?" he asks, leaning down over Stiles' face. They're all so close together now that the room feels hotter. It smells like sex and bodies.

Stiles answers Boyd by kissing him. It isn't until Stiles opens his mouth to Boyd's tongue and a wave of heat rolls through him that he understands how bad he needed it. Maybe it's some werewolf perception thing and Boyd could tell he needed to lick and suck and kiss. Regardless, it's pretty great touching Erica's warm body while she fucks him, and kissing and groping at Boyd, and feeling Isaac's weight on his thigh and the steady bracket of Scott's arm across his chest.

It's like being drunk. Stiles feels reality float away. He's on another dimension, where it doesn't matter that they're all in danger all the time, that he's not even technically the same species as the rest of them, that he's slightly in love with Derek, that this should be weird. Here, piled up with them, kissing touching needing loving, this. This is good. This is real.

A warm hand cups the top of Stiles' head, fingers pressing, massaging lightly. It's Derek.

"It's all right," Derek says, his low voice somehow audible despite the moans and wet noises--most of which are coming from Stiles. "I know."

It occurs to Stiles that his eyes are wet. He's not crying, exactly. It's more like he's overflowing. When he comes, grunting and arching, his breathing gone all wonky, Erica sinks down and kisses him too, and kisses Boyd, and it's messy and crazy and warm.

"Oh my god," Stiles says, his breath thready. "Fuck. Fuck."

The pack adjusts, moving around Stiles like a solid creature with a lot of limbs. Boneless and sticky and emotional in a way that would embarrass him if he hadn't skidded right past giving a shit one or two handjobs ago, Stiles just lays there, dimly aware that Scott's sucking on his earlobe.

"Roll over," Boyd says.

Stiles turns, guided by more than two warm hands. It reminds him of that part in Labyrinth where the chick falls in a pit and the hands help her.

"Helping hands," he giggles, as he ends up on his elbows and knees and whoa, he's on his elbows and knees. "Uh. Ah." His thoughts keep sparking and misfiring.

When Stiles looks over his shoulder, Boyd is behind him, rubbing Stiles' back and rubbing his ass, his fingers gliding easily. Lube smells like a toy store. Why is that? Oh, and then Boyd is fingering him.

"Yeah," Stiles exhales, tossing his head. Boyd plays with him, working one finger in and out deeply, twisting it and feeling him inside. Stiles loses the ability to even encourage him coherently. He makes eager, senseless noises.

A gentle, narrow hand at Stiles' cheek catches his attention. Erica is there, settling in front of him, parting her pale thighs and guiding his mouth down, down between her legs. He's never--but it's easy--like kissing. He just kisses and licks, needing to, wanting to so badly. He moans against Erica, tasting her and tasting the lingering sharpness of the condom. He sucks at the soft folds of her skin until Boyd replaces his finger with his dick and at that point, all Stiles can do is press his face into the sweatysoft skin at the border of the soft hair between Erica's legs. He can't. He can't lick or anything, he can't think. He whines.

"Shhh," she says, petting his hair and his shoulders. "We won't hurt you."

Boyd holds Stiles' hips firmly, which is a good freaking thing, because otherwise he'd just topple over, thoroughly annihilated by sex wolves.

When Stiles talks Derek into sex, which generally isn't very difficult, he climbs up onto Derek's lap and bounces on him, and makes faces until Derek smiles. It's just a thing. They're not a thing, but it's a thing they do. They don't do it like this. This is new and the edge to it, the loss of control, makes Stiles feel like he's falling, except they're all there, not letting that happen. Boyd is gentle, seeming to know when Stiles' body accepts the penetration as a super good thing. When that moment hits, Boyd picks up the pace, until the room is full of slapping sounds and Boyd's measured groans.

It doesn't take Boyd long to come. As he holds Stiles' hips tighter and shivers over his back and licks Stiles' shoulder blades, Stiles makes a weak effort to mouth at Erica more. All he really accomplishes is getting her all over his face.

She giggles and puts two fingers in his mouth. "You're so cute like this."

They turn him back over, moving him slowly, like he's a big, pliant sex doll. He'd like to help, but his body feels sore and heavy and all the ideas they have are good ideas anyway. He ends up cradled with his back against Erica as she sits against the headboard.

"Am I squooshing you?" he asks.

"Super strength, and stuff," she reminds him.

Facing the room again, Stiles takes hazy stock of the situation.

Scott's asleep, sprawled along one side of the bed, naked and snoring. Boyd tucks up against him, stretching and chuckling softly to himself, naked too. Derek's in a chair by the bed, which, what even, Stiles will process that later. And Isaac is naked now--and Isaac starts licking Stiles' face. All over.

Cleaning him. Tasting Erica.

Man, these werewolves. "Ah--ah--dude," Stiles tries to say. This is slightly shy of sexy.

Then Isaac takes him by the ass and hauls him down a few inches. Stiles gets the picture and figures, why the hell not, and digs his heels into the bed to part his thighs for Isaac.

There's something different in the way Isaac fucks him. It isn't casual like Boyd or instinctive and rabbity like Scott's humping, or even confident like Erica. Isaac trembles and noses at Stiles' face like it's hurting him, and that snaps Stiles out of his horny fog.

"Hey," he says, waiting for Isaac to meet his eye.

He takes Isaac by the back of the neck and pulls him into a kiss. Erica hugs around them both, petting Isaac's shoulders and Stiles' arms. The kiss is tense at first, shivery and hesitant, until Isaac moans and the feel of him changes, and he rocks his hips forward with a deep thrust that shakes a happy yelp out of Stiles.

"Good," Stiles says, dizzy with an intense, inexplicable need to tell Isaac he's great, that he really likes him, that he's doing a good job.

Isaac grins crookedly and kisses one of Erica's straying fingers, and Stiles smiles too, feeling like they just accomplished something, though fuck if he knows what it was other than getting sweat and spit and sticky jizz everywhere.

It's gentle, getting fucked by Isaac, and Stiles rocks with it, stroking Isaac's hip and back and nuzzling his head back against Erica. The end is like an afterthought, a quiet thing, Isaac pressed against Stiles' throat breathing hard from his nose in moist whuff's against Stiles' skin.

Heaviness settles over Stiles. Not a bad heaviness. It's more like the tail end of a fever, when every square inch of air feels weighted, like gravity's gotten all fucked up. Isaac is solid and still, and Erica is quiet and humming like she's already dreaming, and Stiles flops his hand to the side to skim his fingers against Boyd and Scott to know they're still there.

Stiles shouldn't be surprised when Derek drags him out of the sex pile, but he is, only because he was half-asleep and it feels like a tragedy to be pulled away from his--from his--

"You smell like Pack," Derek says, easing Stiles down onto the floor.

Grumpy, like it's seven am on a Sunday morning and his dad's waking him up because he can't figure out how to use the automatic coffee maker again, Stiles struggles against Derek's firm grip and tries to climb back into the warm bed full of good things.

"Snuggle... killer, lemme go," Stiles mumbles. "Wanna..."

"In a minute," Derek says. He lets Stiles crawl halfway into the bed and stops him there. It isn't until Stiles feels Derek's hot mouth on his butt cheek that it occurs to him that he wiggled himself up into a very compromising position, one knee cocked up on the mattress and his belly flat against the sheet and Stiles gets it now. He wants to be with them. With the pack. With his pack.

"Holy shit, it worked," Stiles says. "Holy--Derek!"

Derek's mouth is on Stiles' hole. Stiles' brain responds with a series of semi-logical protests but his dick responds with hearty, heavy enthusiasm.

"Please," Stiles says. It's too much. He can't endure the rough-soft-hot licks. He wants more than that. There's a rustle and motion as Derek strips behind him, and then Derek pulls him down again.

The hotel carpet feels itchy and too thin under Stiles' back, and Derek's chin is like sandpaper as they kiss. Stiles wraps his legs around Derek and hangs on as Derek nails him, inching them along the floor until Stiles' head knocks against the nightstand and they both laugh hoarsely.

"Come to bed," Isaac says, draping a hand over the side of the mattress to beckon lazily.

"Busy," Stiles gasps, "fucking, there's, fucking, happening. Ow. Ah--one sec."

Derek doesn't slow until he's done. Because he's Derek, he starts looking Stiles over while his dick is still twitching. In Stiles.

"How are you?"

"Debauched," Stiles says.

"And?" Derek prompts, so gently, his brow knit just so, that Stiles knows what he means.

"Bonded." Stiles' breath betrays him, hitching in his chest. "Derek. You didn't tell me it'd be like this. I feel..." He'd gesture to his belly if Derek wasn't pressed against it. It's like he's very full. Like he's in love. Like he'll start acting like Scott fucking McCall if he can't be near his pack.

Derek nods, serious and wide-eyed, the way he gets when he forgets to try and look scary. He keeps watching Stiles even as he pulls away with a small flinch and drops onto his stomach to suck Stiles' dick in long, tight draws.

The third time isn't a charm as much as a near-painful squeeze that runs through Stiles' whole body. He's so overwhelmed by then, coming again, in Derek's mouth, that all he can do is cry out into the back of his hand.

After that, he's not going to move. Nope.

Luckily, Derek lifts him and places him in the middle of the bed. Derek then leaves, and Stiles squirms his way tightly between Boyd and Erica, shivering. He's about to hit the uncool edge of overwhelmed, lost in waves of startling affection, when Derek returns with hot, damp towels from the bathroom and proceeds to wipe Stiles' all over. Derek mumbles nonsensical soothing sounds like he's the biggest cat to ever clean a very filthy kitten.

Stiles snickers to himself, picturing Derek with a big, twitchy tail, and falls asleep smiling, with his pack.

**Author's Note:**

> Why is Stiles always a kitten in my head? Sorry, Stiles.


End file.
